A Dichotomy of Discontent
by WinterSky101
Summary: Tears filled Bossuet's eyes. He blinked them away as best he could. "Today is the anniversary of my father's death." Canon era, before Les Amis meet Marius.


**Hello and welcome to Barricade Day, Part 1.**

**I couldn't decide if I wanted to celebrate Barricade Day today (when they make the barricade) or tomorrow (when they all die), so I decided I would just celebrate it both days. I swear I still write for multiple fandoms, it's just that I'm doing my lit final on Victor Hugo and thus Les Mis has taken over my life. Sorry about that.**

**This fic takes place some indeterminate time before Les Amis meet Marius, but Joly and Bossuet are living together. Warning: Joly starts to panic a couple times but Bossuet talks him out of it before he can really have a full-fledged panic attack. Also, basically the whole fic is about Bossuet mourning his dead father, so if that's not something you want to read about, this fic is not for you.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Les Mis.**

* * *

Joly was awoken quite suddenly in the night by the sound of harsh breathing and muffled whimpers. It took a few moments for him to awaken enough to make sense of the sounds, but once he was a bit more coherent, he listened again, trying to discern why the sounds woke him up. They were clearly coming from somewhere in his lodgings, and there was only one other person there.

Quietly, Joly crept out of his bed to where his friend Bossuet slept in the other room. The room was dark, although Joly had offered Bossuet a candle. The offer had been refused, with an incident at Café Musain three weeks past cited as the reason. Joly had accepted that, but kept the candle in the room anyway (although with a fair amount of trepidation after the reminder).

Joly was glad of the candle when he entered Bossuet's room. He didn't have one of his own with him. Quickly, he struck a match and lit the wick, holding the candle up. Bossuet was barely moving on his bed, but his breathing was fast and there was obviously something wrong. Thoughts of fevers and injuries running through his head, Joly raced over to the bed. Although Bossuet's face was glistening with sweat, his temperature was normal, and his pulse was not overly fast or slow. Joly was beginning to check for injuries when Bossuet's moans suddenly turned into words.

"No," he whispered, his voice taut with sorrow. "No, no please don't, please _please_ no, Father don't leave me, please don't die I need you _please_!" Joly leaned back, the realization sinking in. Bossuet wasn't sick or hurt. He was dreaming.

"Bossuet?" Joly asked, gently calling his friend. Bossuet had helped him before when his hypochondria drove him to panic; Joly was not about to let him remain in the clutches of a horrible nightmare.

"No, please no," Bossuet begged. Joly gripped his shoulder tightly.

"Bossuet, it is but a dream," he whispered. While waking up wouldn't solve all of Bossuet's problems, it would at least free him from whatever terrible visions were in his mind. Bossuet just let out a tiny noise that sounded like an aborted sob. "Bossuet!" Joly begged, shaking him slightly. The second Joly began to move him, Bossuet's eyes flew open. His breaths were still quick and harsh, his eyes wide and his pupils blown. "Bossuet?" Joly asked cautiously. Bossuet's eyes met his.

"Joly," he whispered brokenly, and then tears were streaming down his face. Joly, stunned and acting on instinct, ignored his own fears and took Bossuet into his arms, holding him as he sobbed. The tears seemed unending, and when they were done, Bossuet was asleep in Joly's arms. Carefully, Joly laid him on the bed, stood there awkwardly for a moment, and left the room.

The door remained ajar, in case Bossuet needed Joly again.

* * *

Bossuet woke the next morning with confused memories of the night before. He had but to think of the date, however, and it all made sense.

"Bossuet!" Joly called when Bossuet, after dressing, stepped out of the room in which he stayed. "Are you alright, _mon ami_?"

"I am well," Bossuet replied. "Thank you for what you did last night." His language was stiffer than normal, more formal than how he normally spoke with his friends.

Joly still looked concerned. "Bossuet, what's wrong?" he asked softly. Unbidden, tears filled Bossuet's eyes. He blinked them away as best he could.

"Today is the anniversary of my father's death," Bossuet whispered. Joly's eyes went wide.

"Oh Bossuet, I'm so sorry," he cried, his voice full of sympathy. Bossuet forced a smile.

"Worry not, Joly. I will be alright." Joly seemed unconvinced. Bossuet didn't blame him. He knew his smile was blatantly false and he was feeling as if he would prefer to return to his bed rather than do anything productive. But he had no choice; if he missed a day at the law school, he would be expelled.

"If you wish for me to stay here with you, I shall," Joly offered uncertainly. Bossuet smiled slightly.

"I must go to class, Joly. As do you." Joly still looked torn. "How about a compromise?" Bossuet suggested. "After our classes end, we can talk together. I will even allow you to diagnose me with all sorts of exotic diseases."

"Grief is not an exotic disease," Joly replied softly. Bossuet swallowed hard. "But if you prefer, I'll tell you all about a rare, newly-discovered disease that I'm quite convinced you have," Joly added in a clear attempt to cheer Bossuet up. It worked. Bossuet couldn't help a fond smile from appearing on his face. Joly smiled back.

* * *

Bossuet returned to their quarters before Joly did. He had forced himself through the day, although he had dealt with an urge to return to his bed and hide from the world from practically the moment he passed through the doors and parted with Joly. However, once he was home - and how strange, that the lodgings he temporarily shared with Joly had become "home" - Bossuet wished the day would go on a bit longer. Joly would return soon, and Bossuet wished desperately to delay their conversation. Logically, he knew Joly deserved an explanation. And talking about his father would probably help Bossuet in releasing his emotions. But he still didn't want to talk about it.

Joly returned home less than an hour after Bossuet. The whole time was spent fighting the urge to run away. When Joly stepped in, Bossuet was fiddling with a loose button on his waistcoat. He would have to sew it on again when it fell off, which was sure to be soon. Despite this distraction, he was hyperaware of his surroundings and knew the second Joly entered. It seemed to startle Joly; he clearly wasn't expecting Bossuet to look up at him before the door was even fully closed.

"How are you?" Joly asked quietly. Bossuet shrugged.

"I've been better," he replied. Joly nodded slowly, seeming to be unsure of what to say next. "You need not do this," Bossuet added.

"Need not do what?" Joly asked, fiddling with his ever-present cane. Bossuet gestured vaguely.

"This." Joly's face showed he clearly still didn't understand. "Attempt to comfort me. I need not comfort, Joly, I swear." A blatant lie, but Bossuet was unsure he was willing to pay the price for the comfort. Joly frowned slightly.

"Bossuet, we need not do more than you wish. However, I think it would help if you spoke of what troubled you."

"Could we just..." Bossuet's voice broke. Joly looked lost and upset. His hands fluttered anxiously towards Bossuet, obviously searching for something to do. "Can we just sit here together?" Bossuet whispered.

"Of course, _mon ami_," Joly replied softly, moving over to the couch with Bossuet. Tentatively, Bossuet leaned towards Joly, who blinked rapidly a few times before nodding. Bossuet nestled against Joly gingerly, not wanting to push his friend farther than he wanted to go. Joly notoriously disliked making too much physical contact with anyone, and Bossuet was even more aware of that than most of the others, considering their closer relationship. Bossuet didn't want to make Joly uncomfortable, especially considering he had probably worried him already during the night. And, if his memories were true, Joly had allowed Bossuet to cry against him when he woke. That must have been taxing for him, and Bossuet had no desire to stress his friend more.

For the first few moments, lying against Joly was like leaning against a statue. Then Joly took a deep breath and relaxed slightly, wrapping an arm around Bossuet and pulling him in closer. Bossuet was still cautious not to push Joly too far; being as close as they were was already more than Bossuet had expected. He enjoyed it, but he wasn't going to ask for more.

"You don't have to say anything if you do not so wish," Joly said softly. With his head against Joly's shoulder, Bossuet could feel the vibrations of his voice. "But talking may help."

"I know," Bossuet replied. "But speaking on this will be unpleasant, and I am child enough to prefer pleasure and eventual pain to pain and eventual pleasure."

"Bentham would be ever so displeased," Joly quipped, making Bossuet chuckle slightly. "In that case, would you prefer that I attempt to distract you?"

"You did say you were going to diagnose me with a rare disease," Bossuet mentioned. Joly laughed.

"Very well. And after we're finished, perhaps we can meet with Grantaire at the Corinthe." Bossuet frowned slightly.

"Do you know if he'll be there? Have you two made plans?"

"Well, no, but where else would he be?" Joly asked, not unkindly. Bossuet nodded, conceding the point.

"Well, weren't you going to diagnose me?" Bossuet asked.

"Very well," Joly replied. "It's a disease called lupus pernio."

"That sounds ominous," Bossuet replied. Joly nodded.

"The thing that first made me consider it was that it causes hair loss." Bossuet ran a self-conscious hand over his bald head.

"What are the other symptoms?" he asked.

"One of them is rashes on the skin. Remember, you had that rash last week-"

"You mean the burn from tripping and falling into the fire?" Bossuet interrupted.

"It could have been a rash," Joly replied defensively. He was starting to sound a bit more convinced of what he was saying. It seemed Bossuet's game was failing to lighten the mood. "Anyway, you've been completely bald for a few years now, and you haven't even reached your thirtieth birthday."

"It's simply my bad luck," Bossuet replied with a shrug. "It's not a disease, Joly."

"I know," Joly replied, his voice almost edging towards panic. "But what if-"

"No, Joly. Don't worry yourself over my hair," Bossuet scolded.

"Or lack thereof," Joly quipped. Bossuet smiled. "You're right," Joly added. "I worry too much."

"But you are loved all the same," Bossuet replied. Joly's cheeks went pink and he beamed.

"Shall we go off to the Corinthe?" he asked Bossuet.

"Why, what better place would there be to go?" Bossuet replied cheerily. Most of his cheer was false, yes, but he sounded cheery none the less. He hoped it fooled Joly.

* * *

Joly was worried about Bossuet. He seemed to have regained his good spirits, but Joly could tell it was an act. Bossuet was not so good as he thought.

The Corinthe was mostly empty when they arrived, and, to their shock, Grantaire was not sitting at their usual table. He was not in the place at all.

"Where do you think we would find our dear R, as he has left his eternal post?" Bossuet asked. Joly shrugged.

"I know not. Perhaps he is painting, or drawing, or fencing, or boxing, or dancing. He is a man of many talents, after all."

"Or perhaps he is doing something of a less savory nature," Bossuet suggested salaciously. Joly was sure he, a man of over twenty years, did not blush at the implication. Certainly not.

"If he is, it is none of our business," Joly replied primly. Bossuet chuckled, but Joly could not help but realize that his gaiety didn't reach his eyes.

"Shall we stay, regardless of Grantaire's absence?" Joly asked. Bossuet smiled.

"Even if our friend is not here, that does not mean a night of drinking and revelry is off the table! Stay we shall."

Joly and Bossuet took their usual table in the corner of the Corinthe. Matelote came over, as she usually did. Bossuet beamed at her, although Joly noticed yet again that the expression seemed forced.

"Are you two here without Grantaire tonight?" Matelote asked.

"Unfortunately," Joly replied. "Although it does mean we shall require less wine."

"I should say so!" Gibelotte exclaimed as she passed. "Grantaire can drink more than any other man I've ever met!"

"Quite right, my dear," Bossuet replied, grinning. "But between Joly and myself, we can still put away quite a bit."

"Go ahead," Gibelotte replied, passing over a bottle of wine. "Have a lovely night." Matelote winked as the two walked away. Joly laughed as he opened the bottle, hoping it didn't sound fake.

"Well, we have our wine," he announced to Bossuet. "Let us drink it!"

"A lovely plan," Bossuet replied, pouring two glasses. Joly took his and sipped it. Bossuet downed his almost immediately.

"My God!" Joly cried. "Bossuet, you don't have to become Grantaire simply because he is absent!"

"Perhaps I wish to challenge him to a contest," Bossuet joked. Joly sighed.

"Such hubris, to go against Dionysus himself." Bossuet chuckled into his second cup of wine.

"Grantaire would not agree with your epithet," he replied. "He is willing to call any of us a god, but not himself."

"Really?" Joly asked. "I've heard him call Enjolras Apollo, but what for the rest of us?"

"He has referred to you as Asclepius before, " Bossuet replied, pouring himself another glass of wine. "Apparently, your healing is on par with the gods." Joly blushed.

"I am but in training to be a physician," he replied modestly. Bossuet grinned.

"And yet you still manage to help Grantaire when he drinks too much, and help me when I have some sort of accident, and help Bahorel when he gets in a fight, and-"

"You're too kind," Joly interrupted bashfully. "I am not so good as you claim."

"You are excellent, and when you have finished your training, you shall be the best doctor in all of Paris. Nay, all of France. Nay, in all the world!"

Joly was blushing furiously. "You're too kind," he repeated, pouring himself a second glass of wine to replace the first one he had finished. Bossuet was on his third.

"Shall we eat something?" Joly asked, a bit worried by the speed with which Bossuet was consuming his wine. Bossuet shrugged.

"If you so wish." Joly waved to Matelote as she passed them. She turned to face them, waiting for their order.

"Some bread and cheese, if you would," Joly requested. Matelote nodded.

"Of course," she replied, continuing on her way. Joly turned back to Bossuet.

"A simple meal," he pronounced. Bossuet nodded, sipping his wine.

"A good idea." The two drank in silence as they waited, Joly wishing he knew what to say. He was not Prouvaire or Grantaire or Enjolras; words were not his forte. Nor was he as carelessly charming as Courfeyrac or as quietly steady as Feuilly. Joly was a man who understood the body; he would leave it to philosophers like Combeferre to figure out the mind. Even Bahorel could do better than Joly, if only through allowing Bossuet to hit something. Joly was probably the worst of their group for Bossuet at that moment, and he felt the guilt of that deep in his chest.

"Here you are," Gibelotte told Joly and Bossuet as she handed them their plate of food. "Enjoy, lads."

"We shall," Bossuet promised teasingly. Joly was fairly certain that, were the positions reversed, Bossuet would already have convinced him to be cheerful again. Joly was good at being happy and cheerful. It was making others feel that way when something was wrong that was difficult for him.

"Now, what shall we talk about?" Bossuet asked, picking up a piece of bread. "Shall we talk on revolution, or our studies, or what activities Grantaire may be getting up to-"

"Or fathers," Joly blurted out. Bossuet stopped talking abruptly.

"Or fathers," he repeated, his voice faint.

"I have not seen my father for years," Joly babbled, unsure of where he was going. Bossuet took another gulp of wine. "He and my mother live in Avignon, with my little sister."

"I didn't know you had a sister," Bossuet replied. Joly nodded.

"Yes. My younger sister is fourteen. I have an older brother as well, who is twenty-seven. He is married. I believe they have a child, but I haven't seen them in years."

"I imagine the distance between Paris and Avignon makes things difficult," Bossuet replied, pouring his next glass of wine. Joly was fairly certain it was his fourth glass.

"Well, yes," Joly replied, fiddling with his cane. "And my studies, as well as attending Enjolras' meetings, take up much of my time. And it is an expensive trip, so it is not something I may undertake lightly." Joly realized he was babbling and abruptly stopped talking.

"I visited my family less than I would have liked as well," Bossuet replied, sipping his wine. Joly supposed all it took to get him to talk was a few glasses of wine. "I have no siblings. My mother is living with her brother, who took her in after my father's death. I have not seen her since she moved there. As for my father..." Bossuet laughed without humor as he took another sip of wine. "We did not always agree on issues, which led us to arguing, and thus I began visiting him less and less. Then suddenly he was dying and I didn't have enough time left."

"I am sorry for your loss," Joly told Bossuet softly. Bossuet smiled sadly.

"I am too," he replied. Joly was lost as to how to respond. He didn't need to; Bossuet continued without being prodded.

"You can give your condolences, but you can't understand," he told Joly. "I do not wish to impart blame, only to speak the truth. It is impossible to understand the death of a father unless you yourself have experienced it. And what an experience it is, Joly. Your entire world is abruptly changed. Suddenly, your father, your anchor, is gone. You cannot know how hard it is." Bossuet was choking back tears. Joly put a cautious hand on his arm.

"I'm so sorry that you had to go through something like that," he reiterated. "Perhaps I cannot completely understand, but I can sympathize."

"It is terribly difficult," Bossuet whispered, fighting sobs. "I wish he were here. Most days, I can forget about it, but on the anniversary..."

"You should not have to forget about it," Joly replied. "If you were to tell the others, they'd all help you out as well." Joly paused and sighed. "And they would probably be better at it than I."

"What do you mean?" Bossuet asked, frowning. He was still drinking his wine, pouring a sixth glass. He had barely eaten any of the food.

"Well, I have not done all that good a job of comforting you," Joly replied. "One of the others would be better. Someone who was good with words, or good at comforting people, or simply good with people at all. I am not, and thus you should be searching for someone else to comfort you."

"That is incorrect," Bossuet replied. "You are comforting me as well as any other of our friends would. Better, perhaps. If I had to choose any of them, I would choose you."

Joly offered Bossuet a weak smile. He was fairly certain that Bossuet was only saying that to make him feel better, but he would accept it all the same. "If you wish to stop talking about your father, I shall not push you any longer."

"May I speak on it some more?" Bossuet asked shyly. "Despite my original thoughts, I've found that this does help."

"Oh," Joly replied, surprised. "Of course you may speak on it more, if you wish. What more do you wish to tell me?"

"Do you know how my father died?" Bossuet asked. Joly shook his head. "It was illness. He became so weak so quickly, and we had no idea what was causing it." Joly swallowed his panic, which was screaming because _dear lord what if it's genetic and what if Bossuet has it and gets sick and what if it's contagious and Joly gets it and-_

"Joly?" Bossuet asked. Joly jerked back to the conversation. "Joly, _mon ami_, are you alright?"

"Perfectly," Joly replied weakly. "Do not mind me, Bossuet. This night is for you."

"I have worried you," Bossuet replied immediately. "I apologize, Joly. I should have thought before I spoke."

"No!" Joly protested. "My neurosis is not your concern. Tonight, I am here for you, not vice versa."

"Can we not both be here for each other?" Bossuet asked shyly. Joly's lips curved into a slight smile.

"Yes, perhaps that would be the best plan."

* * *

Bossuet awoke in the middle of the night in an unfamiliar bed.

After a moment, he realized the bed was Joly's, as evidenced by the fact that he and Joly were lying there together, tangled up in each other. Joly's brow was creased with worry, even in his sleep. Bossuet slipped away and found that Joly relaxed more and more the less they were in contact. Of course! Joly disliked being touched. The night before, the two had gotten drunk enough to ignore that, but obviously Joly's unconscious still remembered.

Bossuet slipped out entirely from under the covers, standing next to the bed. He and Joly were both mostly clothed, although their cravats and waistcoats had to have come off at some point. The memories of the night before were a bit fuzzy, but Bossuet could remember talking with Joly at the Corinthe for hours. He remembered crying and Joly comforting him with the minimal amount of physical contact necessary. Then he vaguely remembered leaving and returning home, and that was where his memories stopped. All Bossuet knew was that, whatever had happened, it had ended up with him and Joly in bed together.

The night and the discussion had helped Bossuet more than he had expected. His head was pounding fit to burst from the consumption of wine the night before, but emotionally, he felt much better. The anniversary of his father's death had passed, and he had made it through. Thanks to Joly, most of all, who had helped despite his belief he could not.

Bossuet turned back to look at the bed. Joly was curled up in the blankets, looking very young. Bossuet leaned down, placed a feather-light kiss on Joly's hair, and left the room.

When he looked back, Joly's face was content.

* * *

**Just some notes on references I made in the fic:**

**1) The reference to Bentham that Joly makes is a reference to Jeremy Bentham, the founder of modern utilitarianism. The thing Joly is referencing is felicific (or Benthamite) calculus, which is supposed to calculate the amount of pleasure any action will cause.**

**2) The disease that Joly diagnoses Bossuet with, lupus perino, is just one of the original names for sarcoidosis. Baldness and rashes are two symptoms of the disease. I do admit that this is a bit of a historical fallacy; it wasn't until 1877 that the disease was first described, and only in 1888 did Dr. Ernest Besnier coin the term lupus perino. However, as it worked in the fic, I decided to keep it anyway.**

**3) Asclepius is the Greek god of healing and medicine. According to myth, he was the son of Apollo (which has nothing to do with the context of the fic but I find interesting). He was actually killed by Zeus because he used his healing powers to such an extent that he was bringing people back to life, but according to many sources, he was later brought back as a god so Zeus could avoid future disputes with Apollo over Asclepius' fate.**

**4) There is absolutely no reason I made Joly from Avignon; I just knew he had to be from somewhere in the south, since all of the revolutionaries are from the south except Bossuet. Avignon is just a super cool place in the south of France, so I chose it entirely arbitrarily.**

**Those four points were probably way more in-depth than they needed to be. I swear I planned to make them quick points, but somehow that didn't happen.**


End file.
